I got pretty ill this week. Staying home from work, not being able to do anything, afraid to fart sort of sick. I have a stack of mail orders on my desk for Cramhole #2 ready to go out tomorrow. I usually try to get those out right away, so if you feel like there has been a delay, sorry about that. I really appreciate you guys using the web site. They will go tomorrow.

Nothing else really happened this week except before I got sick I finally saw There Will Be Blood. So much has been written about it that I won’t bother wasting my heathen words on such a modern classic. I was blown away. The acting was great. The cinematography was great. Blah Blah Blah. Blood’s great and we’re scum. One thing that did stand out for me was the score. Elements of Jonathan Bepler’s music for CremasterIII were present in the overall theme music. Occasionally the music would reach for a hint of irony a-la Kubrick’s use of light hearted music in deep situations, but those moments were sparse and subtle. The music was well done and kept the tension at a controlled burn.

Movie theaters have long been a sanctuary for me. As I get older and start hating more stuff, theaters are becoming some of the last sanctuaries available. There is a new breed of idiot slithering into the arena of theater that puts me one step closer to murder. Why do people feel it is ok to look at cell phones in movie theaters? I feel like everyone forgets to turn off a phone once in a while and that could be an understandable offense. Possibly a forgivable offense. But now there are these morons who pull their fucking phones out every ten minutes to see if anyone has called forcing a theater of people to look at a square of light that for some reason this person doesn’t realize we can all see. Are we are raising a nation of dunderheads who don’t have the attention span to sit through a two hour movie? What job do you think the waste of space in front of me has that he needed to be in constant contact with someone every ten minutes throughout the whole fucking movie? My guess is that no one clogged the toilet at Wendy’s during the 9:00 showing of There Will Be Blood that night or he might have had to leave early. Perhaps he is texting the plot to one of his dumber friends who locked himself in the closet and couldn’t make it out. For anybody reading who is not familiar with the principle that light travels, let me lay it out. When people are in a dark room and someone pulls a bright light out of their pocket, everyone in that dark room can fucking see it. This is the same guy who eats Taco Bell on the toilet.

Between the mid 1940s and the late 1960s there was a group of jazz players who believed that there was only one acceptable way to play bebop. This group of players called the Gray Boys lived by the notion that there was Lester Youngâ€™s way and the wrong way. Many of these players went on to become giants in the Jazz world. Aubrey Mooreâ€™s career never reached the heights of contemporaries Stan Getz, Kai Winding and Gerry Mulligan. However a recent release entitled The Kerouac Connection samples Mooreâ€™s body of work nicely for fans of bebop.

The Kerouac Connection is part 2 of the Gray Boy series; a series focusing the band of brothers named by Lester Young himself.Connection samples Mooreâ€™s career through his many affiliations with infamy. It also includes pieces from his own septet and sextet who recorded for such prestigious labels such as Savoy and Fantasy. Recordings Moore made with jazz legends Charlie Parker and Miles Davis are also included in this collection. Connection is an excellent representation of the body of work of a great unknown and a great sampling of the arc of bebop.

In ancient times of yore, farty old punk rockers occasionally turned me off to exploring older bands with their â€œthey donâ€™t make â€˜em like that anymore,â€ attitude. This approach to music was too close to the grumpy grandfather grumblings that resonated off of nursing home walls whenever Benny Goodman or Glen Miller are mentioned. It didnâ€™t sound rock â€˜n roll enough to be pining for the established sounds.Now that I am feeling old and am no longer able to understand what the hell kids see in the music they listen to nowadays, my only choice is to regress. When the well of underground 60â€™s pop runs dry, records like the Resonarsâ€™ Nonetheless Blue, replicate that special pop sensibility so well that it takes you there and helps dorks like me feel sort of quasi-hip by owning an album that isnâ€™t 20 years old.

Blue has all the elements of a good revival album in the wake of waning interest in the garage band sound. The album captures a time when psychedelic bands were expected to be able to play and write well. The vocal harmonies are crafted and Beatle-esque. Jangly guitars are only occasionally interrupted for a Love style instrumental interlude. The later are sparse and well placed. The Beatles Revolver comes to mind. A time when music was experimental but bands were still required to have vocal melodies and catchy lyrics. Less like a recent psych favorite Tio Bitar by Dungen, Blue pegs in right before psychedelic music moved into longer songs. Loaded with well-recorded three-minute tunes, Blue is a quality album. Among the wash of $100-a-haircut rock â€˜n rollers playing crap power chord schlock and pretending to have a deep reverence for Roky Erickson, Blue is a rarity for sure and a must for the 60â€™s aficionado.